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Monday, 16 January 2012

A Jackrabbit as a Pet

THE AMAZING JACKY

"He'll never make
it. There is no way that little creature
can live with those things sucking away at its very lifeblood."

John's words made sense. We knew that.
But this was a baby bunny in front of us and it could be so appealing if
only those grotesque creatures left him alone.
So in spite of our better judgement, we selfishly pleaded for life for
the poor little fellow knowing full well that along with prolonging his life,
we were also prolonging his agony.

Our experience with Jacky
began tragically one summer day when Jim, at fourteen, caught the baby
jackrabbit on a field of summerfallow he had been tilling. From his high vantage point atop the big
tractor, he had a panoramic view of the field below him and as he advanced, he
saw the gray, bun-sized fur
balls scattering in front of him. One
of those fur balls seemed to be
having a more difficult time than the others so to avoid driving over him; Jim
yanked the gearshift into neutral, jumped down from the cab and picked it
up. He put it in the cab until he
finished the field and brought him home.

“Look what I found,” Jim called excitedly, as he
jumped out of the tractor cab and ran towards us with a tiny ball of gray fur
in his cupped hands.

The girls ran to meet
him. Jim seldom showed that much
excitement. This had to be special!

“What, what, what?” they shrieked in unison.

Our curiosity turned to horror
when we saw the source of his excitement.
A tiny little bunny, no bigger than a tennis ball, pitifully looked up
at us from tiny slits of eyes almost totally obscured by heavy eyelids
punctuated with the swollen bodies of woodticks! In fact, its whole body, but particularly the
head, and especially the ears, inside and out, was infested with the little
brown balls clinging tenaciously to the scruffy skin covering the pathetic
little frame. Most of them were swollen
to round bulbs from the amount of blood they had managed to steal from their
helpless host. It was a wonder the poor
thing was still alive!

“Uh, how awful!” with one voice we all
agreed. We inspected it further. By this time, John had joined us and his
decision was immediate.

“You can’t be thinking of keeping that thing,” he
said. “It’s half dead. It’s just a matter of time before it’s
totally gone. The kindest thing you can do
for that creature is to kill it and put it out of its misery.”

“Come on you kids.
Be reasonable. Don’t you see how
it’s suffering? Those ticks are sucking
the life out of the poor creature. How
can it survive without blood?”

John looked from one to the
other of the kids hoping for reason to prevail, for sanity to take over.

Jim faltered. He understood what his father was trying to
say. It made sense. But he looked at the bunny and his heart
melted. How could he stand to watch it
die? The girls would not even listen to
Dad’s wise counsel. All they could see
was a beautiful tiny bunny that desperately needed help.

“Oh please, Dad, can’t you do something? Mom, please, please. You can’t just kill it. You can’t!
Mom, can’t you do something?”

“Don’t you kids see what you're asking? There are so many ticks on it you can never
remove them and even if you could, that poor thing could never survive that
kind of torture.”

But the kids kept begging,
pleading for a chance at life for the poor wretched, little creature whose very
own mother had probably given up for dead.
Especially the girls. They just
could not understand why we would not try to save it.

Finally against my better
judgment, I decided to give it a try.

“Maybe we can at least try to get all those ticks
off and see what happens,” I suggested to John.
“If it dies then at least we’ll know we tried.”

“You’re crazy,” John stated flatly. “There isn’t enough life left there to
withstand such an ordeal.”

Bombarded by “Please Mom, oh
please, Mom” from the two girls, I abdicated.
Jim stood by hopefully now not taking part in the discussion. He was older and he knew Dad made sense
except he still could not prepare himself to watch the bunny die either.

“Let's give it a try,” I said, but John would have
no part of it.

“You go ahead if you want, but count me out.” he
declared and walked back toward the shed, leaving me with three hopeful looking
kids and a less than appealing task before me.

Under the watchful eyes of the
kids, I set about trying to rid the poor bunny of his unwelcome parasitic
guests. I had heard of woodticks, but
had never known them to be common in our area and had certainly never seen
anything as gross as this. My knowledge
of treatment for this situation therefore, was at best, pitifully meagre. Still I had been told that a hot needle,
applied to the body, would cause the blood sucking parasite to release its hold
on its victim.

Fighting back the rising
nausea that was welling up within me, I got two long darning needles that I put
on the stove to heat up, and a pair of long needle-nosed pliers with which to hold the hot needles. With Jim holding the bunny motionless, we
went to work. Running back and forth to
the stove as each needle cooled, I gingerly poked each disgusting bulb with the
hot end. With some it worked, with
others, it didn't, either they would not, or maybe could not, back out, so for
the stubborn ones, I just applied the pliers as close to the bunny’s skin and
yanked until it came out, bunny skin, blood and all. John had decided to come back to the house to
watch the operation but at this point was having no part of it. Finally when I could take the repulsive
procedure no more, and ran retching for the bathroom, John relented and took
over to finish the job.

Finding the remaining ticks
relentlessly retaining their hold on the bunny's skin, and blood oozing out of
the wounds where ticks had been yanked out, John was about to throw in the
towel.

“It’s no use, he declared. “These guys just won’t let go.”

But the kids had tasted hope
by now and it seemed that success was too close to quit now. The entreaties came fast and furious.

“No, Dad, please.
You can’t stop now. See, the
bunny is still alive. It’s just a few
more. Please Dad.”

Sensing defeat in this battle
against the three kids, John took the pliers and forcibly yanked the rest of
the heinous moochers off, bringing out a spurt of precious blood following each
such extraction. With the final tick
out, the bunny was still alive, albeit bleeding from each wound, lying limp in
Jim's palm. John walked out of the
house. He was loathe to admit it but he
had been as repulsed by the gruesome task as I had been.

This left me in charge once
again and as the kids stood by expectantly; I took the lethargic creature and
swabbed its wounds with antiseptic from the family medicine cabinet. Then to complete the job, I went outside and
called to John, who was busying himself in the machine shed.

“Need your help for one more thing,” I
called.

Reluctantly he came back to
the house to hear what I had to say.

“Get the Hypodermic needle and we’ll give it a
shot of Penicillin.”

John stared at me in
disbelief. We had a large hypodermic
needle that we used to inject Penicillin into the cattle when there was an
infection. It was huge - twice as long
as the poor bunny. Seeing that I was
serious, he shook his head and reached for the Penicillin.

“How much do I give it?”

“Give it half of a cc.” I said
dispassionately. I just wanted to get
this over with. I didn’t think it would
work either, but now that we had started, we may as well do everything we could
and then let nature do the rest.

John filled the needle and
feeling like Dracula incarnated, I held the bunny motionless as John poked the
miniature thigh with the large needle sending a small dose of penicillin into
the tiny body.

There! We had done what was humanly possible. The rest was up to God Himself, if He wanted
to restore the poor creature to life or take it to a much better place.

“Now take it to the cage,” I told Jim. “That is all we can do for him. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens
now.”

“I’ll get him a bowl of water,” offered Connie.

“And I’ll get him some clover to feed on,” Carol
shouted as she ran out towards the ditch.

I didn’t have the heart to
tell them that the bunny would probably not be eating or drinking for some time
yet - if ever.

Jim tenderly cupped the tiny
bedraggled and very listless ball of scruffy fur in his hands and carried it
out to the cage that we had used for a tame bunny the year before. The girls brought the water and fresh clover
and scattered it in the small enclosure but the bunny lay motionless where Jim laid him, sapped dry of effort and will.

The cage consisted of a mesh
enclosed outer area as well as a little "rabbit house", lined with
soft grass. For the first couple of
days, we never saw "Jacky". He
was hiding in his little house, probably too sick to move. We considered giving him another injection of
penicillin, but fearing that it might be too much, decided against it. There was no local veterinarian and we had
neither the time nor the money to go to Dauphin on what we considered a
hopeless case anyway. We would just let
Nature take its course. Each morning and
after school, the kids would poke their hand into the cage to feel if the bunny
was still living.

“It’s still warm, but it seems to be shaking so
badly,” they told us worriedly.

“Just give it time,” I said. “It was very sick.”

So reassured by the warm body
and the feeble tremors and breathing, they waited patiently for the bunny to
make his move. Daily they brought him fresh
clover, lettuce, carrots and water but there never seemed to be any sign that
any had been touched.

Just about when the kids were
ready to give up hope that he would pull through, Jacky emerged from his house on Saturday afternoon. This sent the girls into a frenzy of excited
squealing.

"He's out, he's going to make it, he'll
be okay". We rushed to see and sure
enough, there was Jacky, busily and peacefully munching on some of the fresh
clover the girls had put in his cage.

From that day forward, Jacky
continued to improve. He was nervous if
we came too close to the cage and would dart into his house for safety but as
he learned that those giants around him brought food and water and never harmed
him, he became less fearful and would sit outside in his "corral"
eagerly awaiting the fresh greens that the girls always provided. Every now and then, they would take him out
of the cage to cuddle him, which he would reluctantly submit to, but he never
seemed to enjoy it, no matter how long he stayed with us.

Bimbo, our family dog, quickly
learned that this was indeed a treasured member of the family, like himself,
and took to sitting guard over the cage peacefully watching the bunny. At first, the sight of the dog would send
Jacky scurrying for cover, but eventually because he was such a common sight,
the bunny learned there was nothing to fear from this shaggy black mutt and he
began to derive a kind of security from his presence.

Other members of the
"family" that had to adjust to Jacky's presence were Mitzy, the
dappled gray mother cat, and Tommy, the striped orange tomcat. This was perhaps the most difficult
transition. Both Mitzy and Tommy were
good hunters and instinctively, they knew Jacky as a wild creature, a tasty
dinner they were used to chasing, catching, and consuming. Yet, here was one of their usual prey,
protected from them by that mesh fence!
It didn't make sense to them at all.
They would prowl around the cage seeking an opening while poor Jacky
cowered and trembled inside his little house.

Inevitably, one of us adults
or kids would walk by, see them stalking, and give them a sound scolding,
sending them away, feeling like they had committed a terrible crime. It took a long time for these natural hunters
to realize that although this was indeed a member of the wild species, it was,
nonetheless, a protected and cherished member of this family.

To get them acquainted with
each other, the kids would bring Jacky, Mitzy and Tommy into the house
together. By watching them closely, they
were able to bridge a bond of tolerance, and eventually even friendship, between
the three family pets.

The first few such encounters
were hilarious. Both cats knew enough
not to attack Jacky outright in front of the kids. But Mitzy was curious, and would approach
Jacky hesitantly to sniff his nose.
Jacky would get up on his hunches, make low grunting, snorting noises
deep within his throat and his front paws would go into a whir of boxing
motions that no eye could follow. Mitzy
would jump back in surprise and alarm unable to understand this creature that
just refused to accept her friendly gesture.
Or Tommy would try his luck at making friends and stealthily approach
Jacky. Jacky would wait until he was
almost a touch away and then he'd use those long jackrabbit legs of his and
leap lithely up and over Tommy to the other side. Tommy would sit there, surprised, looking
around and wondering where Jacky had disappeared.

These games were so much fun
to watch, the kids would often bring the threesome into the house just so we
could sit and watch their comical antics as the three playmates cavorted around
the house, chasing each other, leaping, slapping, boxing and just generally
providing us with a great show.

The cats delighted in teasing
Jacky. They'd come near him and reach a
paw to touch his nose which never failed to send Jacky into his boxing and
grunting frenzy. Even the kid's friends
often would come to watch these shows.

"You ought to be charging
admission," our friends laughed.

With these shows coming so
often, the three performers became great pals, gleaning from each other a
comradeship that mutually benefited each one.
Even outside, the cats would often play tag with Jacky through the mesh
wire of the cage. By then we were quite
confident that they were only playing, that they would not seriously hurt
Jacky. I think Jacky knew it, too,
because he never ran to hide anymore in his little house.

Jacky became quite tame as the
summer progressed. At first, the girls
made a large corral out of chicken wire where they would let him loose to graze
on his own as they sat nearby watching.
Then they would pick him up and transfer him to the cage for
safety. He got used to being picked up
and let loose so that he no longer shied away when they approached. He seemed to enjoy his freedom, but did not
mind being penned in either.

As fall approached, we felt we
should let him loose.

"It really is unkind to
Jacky to be penned in like this," we explained to the kids. "He is a wild creature and he is healthy
now so he can take care of himself. He
should really be free."

"But he's happy
here. Why do we have to let him
go?" the girls wailed.

"If he's happy, then
he'll stick around. But he should be
free to choose. You wouldn't want to
live in a cage would you?"

Reluctantly, they agreed. They took him out of the cage and set him
free on the lawn as they had done so many times before. He hopped around, munching on the green
grass, twitching his funny little nose and looking up at the girls expecting to
get picked up at any minute, but we all retreated to the house, leaving him alone
as we watched through the window. Mitzy
joined him and they chased each other around in the now-familiar games.

We left the cage doors open
but did not put Jacky inside for the night, allowing him the freedom to do as
he wished. Next morning, the girls ran
out to see where Jacky was.

"He's in the cage!"
the girls burst through the kitchen door excitedly. "The door of the cage is wide open and
Jacky's inside."

The kids were thrilled that Jacky had decided to stay
out of his own free will. He continued to
go into the open cage whenever
he wanted and he never left
the yard as we had expected, but continued to graze on the familiar grasses and
clovers on the grounds, not venturing far on his own.

When Mitzy produced her fall
litter of kittens, Jacky put up with them like a doting godfather and as the
kittens grew, the animal shows on our yard became even more interesting and
captivating. In the evenings, we need only switch on the
yardlight and we'd see Jacky and his cat family frolicking in the
spotlight. It was as if they delighted
in providing us with a good show.

I worried about my garden
sometimes, fearing that Jacky would find my luscious carrots and cabbages and
feast on them. But he either never found
them at all, or if he did, he may have thought they were too old and tough. Whatever the reason, my garden remained
untouched by his sharp teeth.

As the winter set in, Jacky
stayed within the yard limits. His now
healthy fur coat turned to white and his long legs carried him in good stead as
he darted in and around the more than a hundred head of cattle that always spent their winters
in the yard. He was left on his own most
of the time, but he seemed content to stay nearby and join the cats for regular
romps under the yardlight. It was as if that piece of light in
an otherwise dark night was an invitation to get in that extra added bonus of
playtime out of each day because we would see him feeding or just hopping
around peacefully by himself in the evenings when the light was not on. Obviously playing with the cats was no fun in
the dark.

The kids still put out lettuce
and carrots for him and he would feast on them at his leisure but we also saw
him feeding on the grain that spilled beside the grainery so after that we
always made sure there was oats under the shed where he could eat in
peace.

We were told that he would
strip our beautiful trees of their bark, leaving them to die, but we watched
and he never damaged a single tree preferring, obviously, the ready-to-eat food
that was always put out for him, like the grain, chop, and the vegetables with
which the girls still enticed him on a regular basis.

Spring came and Jacky was
still around, though we expected him to leave, perhaps start a family, or
something. He remained around the yard
for the following summer, providing us with many hours of pleasure as we
watched the games that he and the cats played.
He wouldn't let the kids catch and cuddle him anymore, but he obviously still just wanted to
live with us. He seemed to be content to just be around the family whom he knew
and trusted.

He never attacked my garden
that next summer either. Somehow, it
just seemed as if it was beyond his range.
He feasted on the lush green clovers and other grasses and was often
seen cavorting with the cats on the yard.
He adopted more of Mitzy's kittens and enjoyed the company of Tommy and
Bimbo. Maybe he just never realized he
was a rabbit - certainly
not a wild one - living with people and cats and dogs.

Jacky was almost three years old when his
familiarity with cats became his Waterloo.
He never feared cats. To him,
they were playmates. He probably never
even made an effort to use those long legs of his for a quick getaway,
expecting the unfamiliar neighbour's tomcat to be just playing with him. That morning, we found the unwelcome strange
feline feasting on the remains of Jacky.
John immediately
went for the gun and blasted that tomcat out of this world but that did not
bring our Jacky back.

It was truly a time of
mourning in our house for the next few weeks as we realized that our wild
little pet would no more frolic under the yardlight and provide us with those
free performances. But we remembered
fondly all the happy times we had shared because Jacky had become a part of our
lives for a while.